


the red of your lips; the frost on your lashes

by tostitos



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Christianity, Christmas, Churches & Cathedrals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Self-Acceptance, kihyun is a (metaphorical) angel, other kpop cameos - Freeform, probably fake deep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 03:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17460065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tostitos/pseuds/tostitos
Summary: with the first crystalline snow and the honeyed warmth of christmas on the horizon, kihyun finds a boy wrapped in cold and loses himself in the way the golden lights strung up outside the church reflect off his dark coffee eyes.





	the red of your lips; the frost on your lashes

**Author's Note:**

> hi, this is sari aka tostitos, cheating the system because i made it and i can do that. so have this tiny intro to this yet unfinished fic 
> 
> written for the church square of the kihyungwon bingo
> 
> i will probably properly capitalize this later.

a young boy slides the bag settled on his back off one of his shoulders and swings it around to hang at his front. navy gloved fingers pick at the zipper of the front pocket, the tab slipping from between them when he pulls too hard, too fast. there’s chatter behind him — annoyed, almost as cold as the bitter wind that whips at the back of his exposed neck — and his shoulders hunch forward as he frantically searches for a black, fake leather wallet.

he opens the wallet and immediately a sigh shrinks him further. “uh, wait,” he mumbles, holding the wallet with one hand as he digs around in the pocket he pulled it from.

“it’s freezing out here, kid!”

“ _move_ if you can’t pay.”

“sorry, i— sorry. just...” the boy stutters, still looking for any bit of spare change.

“hey, where do you—“

“excuse me,” another boy, older — closer to being a man, says through a chuckle that’s equal parts amused and annoyed. “for two.” he makes brief eye contact with the withering bus driver before reaching around the boy and tapping his bus card on the scanner.

the boy looks up at him with wide eyes, stressed panic still clear in his wavering irises, and the young man offers him a smile from behind a thick cream, knitted scarf.

“t-thank you.”

slipping his bus card into his pocket, the young man shakes his head. “no problem. this could have been solved faster if _anyone else_ had the slightest bit of heart to spare a few coins,” he says and makes a point to look over his shoulder at the line of people he cut in front of still waiting to get on the bus.

nodding his head at the boy, the young man motions for him to move on and find a seat and he himself takes one as far away from the exit door and the cold draft it’ll blow in. settling in by the window, he crosses his legs and tugs his scarf away from his mouth. he lifts the red paper cup, warmth still transferring into his palm, and takes a sip of sweet and spicy gingerbread latte.

before long, the bus closes its front door and is on the move again.

yoo kihyun brings the cup in his hand down to rest lightly on his thigh and peers through the frosted window.

the town is painted in greys and stained whites, the sun hiding under a blanket of clouds as it has been for the last week. they’re due for snowfall; it’s only a matter of when the first crystal of the season will flutter.

something about the cold of winter and the frost that seems to cling to everything makes the town look like a postcard. one of the ones you buy at a ski resort gift shop with a photo of the surrounding neighborhood. (but there are no mountains here, just the quiet of a permanently sleepy town and the promise of snow yet to fall.)

kihyun sips idly as the bus takes him through streets he could navigate with his eyes closed. there isn’t a lot of chatter on the bus — none that isn’t teeth chattering — and he relaxes against the light hum of the bus, the roll of the wheels smooth along level tar streets.


End file.
